


XMAS IN IBIZA

by ymorton



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 20:59:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymorton/pseuds/ymorton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr fic from an xmas meme for the prompt: </p>
<p>Nick/Harry, separated at each other’s family's place and then one person makes the drive/flight and surprises them!</p>
            </blockquote>





	XMAS IN IBIZA

**Author's Note:**

> 100% fake. VERY. FAKE. 
> 
> Misleading title, soz. 
> 
> tumblr! say hi! ihavea1dbloghelp.tumblr.com

"I shouldn’t be bored," Harry says into the phone. "Right?" 

Niall grunts something in reply, unintelligible from all the way in Mullingar.

"I haven’t been home in - months. It’s like. Ungrateful. Right?" 

“ _I’m_  bored,” Niall says, chewing loudly into the phone. It’s fairly disgusting. “There’s nothing to do at home. Except food. And telly.” 

"This is exactly where I wanted to be six months ago, though," Harry muses. He’s lying half on his bed, his head hanging off, staring at the Cheryl Cole poster he’d put up when he was fourteen. She looks weird upside down. "Exactly here. In my room. Remember in Houston when I got homesick?" 

"Yeah," Niall says. "S’was stupid. Home’s boring." He lets out a groan, and then there’s a wet sound into the phone, a little squelching noise. 

Harry wrinkles his nose. 

"What are you doing?" 

"Eating," Niall says, a little clearer, like he’s swallowed a mouthful. 

"Still? It’s almost ten." Harry had Christmas dinner ages ago, and he’s still stuffed with turkey and potatoes. He ate so many brussels sprouts he thought he was going to be sick. 

"Supper," Niall says. "Mac-donald’s." 

"McDonald’s isn’t open, it’s Christmas." 

"Yeah it is, it’s always open." Niall sounds personally offended on McDonalds’ behalf. "Bobby brought it home. S’good."

"What’re you eating exactly?" Harry asks, boredly, fumbling with the shag on his carpet, tugging at it. There’s a bloody layer of dust all over it. His mum obviously doesn’t bother to clean in here anymore. 

Niall belches into the phone. “Big Mac.” 

"Mm." That does actually sound a bit good. Harry scooches back onto the bed, slings his legs up against the wall and stares up at them. He’s only wearing a t-shirt and pants and his legs look pale and knobby. He should get a tattoo on his calf. Like. A bird. 

Oh wait, he already has a bird. Two of them. He presses his finger into one of them. Maybe not another bird. Three birds seems a bit much.

"Should I get a tattoo on my leg?" he asks, shifting the phone against his ear. 

"Where?" Niall says gamely, his mouth full again. "Oof, I’m so full. Bloody well hurts." 

"Stop eating," Harry advises. 

"Nah. Tastes good." 

"You’re an idiot." 

"Where on your leg?" 

"Eh. Calf?" 

"Like front of it or back?" 

"I dunno." Harry rotates his leg in mid-air, looks at it appraisingly. "Back maybe. Down the back of it." 

"Might be cool. Like a vine or something." 

"A vine?" 

"Goin’ down your leg, yeah." 

"A vine," Harry says thoughtfully. "Hmm."

"Or like a snake." Niall takes another audible bite. "A colored one." 

"Meh, no, don’t want any more colored, bit much," Harry says, nose wrinkling, and Niall mock-gasps. 

"I’m telling Zaynie!" 

"Heyyy," Harry says. "Don’t." 

Niall laughs and then groans. “God. Haz I’m gonna  _die_.” 

"Stop eating!" Harry says, laughing. 

"I have," Niall mumbles, sounding instantly sleepy. Of course. Niall’s food comas are legendary at this point. "Jesus, I’m gonna pass out." 

"But I’m bored," Harry whines. "You’re sposed to entertain me." 

Niall just grunts. “Gotta go t’bed.” 

Harry pulls the phone away from his ear. They  _have_  been talking for an hour and a quarter.

"Fine," he says. "Good night." 

"Happy Christmas, Hazza," Niall says, his voice thick. 

"Yeah," Harry grumbles, and hangs up. Maybe it’s a bit petty, but he’s -  _bored_. 

He curls up on his bed, thumbs through Instagram, stops when he sees a picture of a beach with palm trees and a truly hideous filter, posted six hours before. Under it Nick’s written  _XMAS IN IBIZA = NOT BAD_ and then three emojis of a Christmas tree. Harry sticks out his tongue at it. Nick won’t be back for a whole day, and Harry won’t see him for a day after that, when he’s going over to the Grimshaws’ for dinner. 

Ten pictures down Nick’s posted another- him and Pix and Aimee, looking tan and happy and completely drunk. Nick’s sipping something pink and fruity-looking. 

It looks  _so bloody fun_. Harry sighs deeply, tosses his phone onto the pillow next to him and stares up at the ceiling, feeling stupidly sorry for himself. 

"Hi mopey," Gem says from the doorway, making a face at him. "D’you want hot choccy?" 

"Meh," Harry says, and she comes in, kicking the door shut behind her and climbing onto his bed. 

"Why the long face, little lad?" she says, tweaking his nose. 

"Bored," Harry says, and Gemma smacks his knee. 

"Rude! You barely ever see us and you’re  _bored_.” 

"Like you’re not," Harry says, knowing her. 

"Course I am," she says, primly. "That’s the point of holidays. You eat too much and watch telly and get really really bored. It’s tradition." 

Harry sighs, and says, mournfully, “Grimmy’s in Ibiza.” 

"I know, I saw." Gemma waves her phone at him. "You’re not actually his only follower on Instagram." 

"We should go," Harry says, lifting her head, and she smacks him again. 

"Don’t be dumb. This is family time, not popstar jet-all-over-the-globe time. You’ll see your precious Grimmy soon enough. Come down and get a hot choccy, you twit." 

Harry scraps that plan in favor of kicking her repeatedly, until she’s digging her fingers into his sides and making him nearly piss himself in laughter. 

"Cheat!" he yells, giggling so hard his stomach hurts. "Mum! Gemma’s cheating!" 

Gemma rolls off his bed, panting, laughing, her cheeks red. “Chocolate!” she yells, and bounds out of his room. 

Harry flops back, still quivery from the tickles, and picks up his phone again. 

_hows Ibizaaa?_ he sends to Nick, and then throws his phone onto the floor, dramatically. He doesn’t even  _care_  about the answer. He honestly doesn’t. 

He’s half-asleep, an hour later, when the door creaks open and he says, muzzily, “Gemma, I don’t want hot chocolate.” 

"Gemma?" a voice says, low, amused. "I’m not doing pervy roleplay with you, Styles." 

Harry sits bolt upright. 

"You!" he says, pointing, because it’s-  _him_. It’s Nick. He’s actually. There. In Harry’s childhood bedroom, all tall and sleepy-looking and fantastically tan. He’s wearing a white t-shirt that sets off his bronzed skin and dark jeans and Harry’s so shocked he can barely say anything. 

"Me," Nick says, laughing, open-mouthed. "Hi. Are you surprised?" 

"You- you  _bastard_ ,” Harry gasps, launching himself off the bed and into Nick’s arms. “You’re in Ibiza!” 

"Am I?" Nick says, and he’s still laughing, as he hugs Harry hard. "Odd. It’s pretty bloody cold for Ibiza, in’t it?" 

Harry is grinning so wide his face hurts, and before Nick can say anything else stupid he kisses him. 

"Oof, hello," Nick laughs, stumbling backward, and then, after a second, a soft sigh. His hands come up to rest heavy and warm on the small of Harry’s back, and when Harry sucks at his tongue he accepts it easily, with another little hum of breath. 

Nick tastes like long-chewed cinnamon gum and he smells like fading cologne and stale airplane air but Harry doesn’t care. It’s so- ridiculous, Nick being here. Nick’s here in bloody  _Cheshire_. 

"You’re so stupid," he says as he pulls back, breathless, and Nick opens his eyes slowly, looking dazed. 

"What?" he says, thickly. He licks his lips. 

"You’re just- so. Stupid." Harry smiles at him, kisses Nick’s cheek. "Happy Christmas." 

"Mm, you too," Nick murmurs, low, and then he takes Harry’s mouth again, kisses him long and wet. Harry ends up flushed and hot all over, ends up on his back on his childhood bed, and it’s like some long-held fantasy - getting thoroughly snogged by an older bloke on his bed, big hands spreading Harry’s bare thighs. Not just a bloke. Nick  _Grimshaw_. Harry gasps up into Nick’s mouth, loving it, rolls his hips in a long, dirty grind against Nick’s thigh. 

"Shameless," Nick mutters, even as his hand gropes over Harry’s chest, under his t-shirt. His thumb catches on a nipple and Harry whimpers, his hips twitching up again, cock giving a heavy, full throb in his pants. 

"We  _completely_ fooled you!” a voice crows triumphantly from the doorway, and then - “Oh, god. GOD. Bleeding hell, I’m going to go wash my eyes out-“ 

"Bye Gemma!" Harry calls, and the door slams behind her. Nick’s laughing again, looking so helplessly happy, and Harry reaches up, traces a finger over the curve of his smile. 

"What?" Nick says, kissing the tip of Harry’s finger, his cheeks flushed red and his quiff hanging undone in his face.  

"Nothing," Harry says, biting his lip to keep from smiling so hard he won’t be able to kiss, his chest clenching like bubbles are popping in there, somehow. "Just- happy you’re here." 

"Your sister’s a tricky one," Nick says, brushing his mouth over the center of Harry’s palm. Harry shivers, slowly, the feeling working its way down his spine. 

"Yeah," Harry agrees, distractedly by the way Nick is kissing down the inside of his wrist, the skin tender and sensitive. It’s nowhere near his cock but he  _feels_ it there, every graze of Nick’s lips like a warm spark in his belly. “Nick. Fuck.”

"I really shouldn’t blow you in your bed, in your room," Nick says, conversationally, putting his mouth reverently to the inner bend of Harry’s elbow, above  _Things I can’t_. “Especially when I’m a houseguest. I mean. S’just rude, isn’t it?” 

Harry wriggles up into him, and Nick repeats, softly, “Shameless.” 

He doesn’t sound too put out about it. 

"You ever get sucked off in this bed?" he says, moving down a little, and Harry wrestles his shirt off. Nick grins, pleased, curling both his broad hands around Harry’s waist and leaning down, kissing his nipple. "Answer the question, Styles." 

"C-couple times," Harry says breathlessly. Nick draws his thumbs slowly over the bottom of Harry’s belly, and Harry quivers. "Oh. I- yeah." 

"Yeah?" Nick mumbles. Harry can’t see his face, but he can feel his smile, pressed somewhere to the right of Harry’s navel. "When you were a wee babe?" 

"Fif-fifteen," Harry manages. "When I was fifteen. No bloke ever- though. Ever." 

Nick’s grin widens at that, Harry feels it open on his skin. “I’m honored to be your first at something, Styles. It’s pretty bloody hard these days.” 

"If you ever get around to it," Harry says cheekily, and Nick bites the skin of his belly in retaliation, scrapes his teeth down the line of hair on Harry’s stomach and then finally slides his mouth, hot and wet and easy, around the head of Harry’s cock. 

"Oh," Harry moans, and then presses his pillow over his face to keep himself quiet. "Hngh.  _Nick_.” 

"Quiet," Nick says, amused, and Harry feels a finger slip under his foreskin, gentle, gets it slick with Harry’s precome. "Oh, I missed your lovely prick." 

Harry whines inaudibly. God, an hour ago he was moaning on the phone with Niall about being bored, too-full on Christmas dinner, and now Nick is here, this overwhelming, exciting presence in his dull childhood bedroom, sucking Harry’s cock slow and luxurious like it’s all he wants. 

He closes his eyes, feels - not for the first time- terribly, insanely lucky. 

When he comes he laughs, so happy it feels like he might pop, and Nick just laughs too, swipes his palm over his mouth after he swallows, because he’s used to Harry’s weird tendencies by now. 

"That mean I was alright?" he says, with the biggest smuggest smile, his mouth flushed a dark pink. 

Harry tugs him up by the hair, not too hard, and says, “I missed you.” 

Nick looks pleased. He kisses Harry’s mouth, the taste of it bitter. “Did you?” he says, head cocking. Harry knows he’s fishing for compliments, but he doesn’t mind. He likes to compliment Nick, Nick who is so lovely in every way and only sometimes knows it. 

"Yeah," Harry says, darting in for another kiss. With his other hand he reaches down, fits his palm against Nick’s hard-on through his jeans. "Mostly this." 

"Shameless," Nick says for the third time, like a broken record, but he’s pushing into the touch. His voice is lazy and slow-sticky-sweet like caramel and his eyes have gone half-lidded.

Harry kisses him again. 

"All of you," he says, and then he doesn’t talk for a while. 

Nick’s quiet and breathless, hands fisting in Harry’s hair as Harry gives him head. Harry draws it out because it feels good- lovely and alien and exciting, to have a cock in his mouth as he hunches over in the bed he’s wanked in since he was thirteen. It feels dirty and thrilling, in the most comforting way. Like most things with Nick. 

He smiles around Nick’s cock at the thought and Nick moans at the graze of teeth, comes straight down his throat like it took him by surprise. 

Afterward they lie snugged together. Harry is mostly asleep when Nick stirs. 

"Oh, hell," he says suddenly. 

"Mm, what?" 

"I was supposed to bring you down for pudding. I was supposed to say hello and then get you and take you downstairs for a bloody family  _pudding_. Who eats pudding at 11 PM, anyway?” 

Harry laughs into Nick’s chest. “Whoops.” 

"S’your fault," Nick accuses, kissing the top of Harry’s head. "You distracted me." 

"Just say you had jetlag," Harry mumbles. 

"One hour time difference," Nick laughs. "Really convincing." 

Harry wriggles closer to him. “Shh,” he says, fumbling upwards and closing Nick’s mouth with his hand. Nick laughs, breath hot against Harry’s fingers through his closed lips. “Sleep now.” 

"Happy Christmas, popstar," Nick whispers, into his hair. "Glad I’m here."

Harry falls asleep smiling. 


End file.
